THIS is the second article taken from Foundation Letters and Teachings, and which was originally published in THE OCCULT REVIEW of London in August, 1926.—THE EDITOR.

FOR THOSE who can hear, a Bell is tolling. Through the shrill clamour of the marts and the roar of an endless traffic its solemn undertones may be discerned. It is heard in the Halls of Amusement, in the slithering feet upon the dancing-floor. Slow and solemn, it marks the passing of an Age—it tolls the death knell of the civilizations of Europe.

Another stroke—or two—or three, and the measure of its rhythm will change: no longer an undertone, it will dominate all other sounds. Harsh and clamorous it spreads the alarm, ubiquitous, penetrating, inescapable. It is the Tocsin, the herald of another and more dreadful St. Bartholomew.

For centuries it has rung out the triumphs of Might and sounded the dictates of Intolerance. It has heralded conquering armies and rung the Assembly for execution, the fire, and the stake. It has been the last sound to beat upon the ears of the dying, it has drowned the anguished cries of countless millions.

This Bell was shaped by human hands, fashioned in the hearts and minds of men. It was melted and moulded by fierce passions, and beaten by the hammers of selfishness upon the anvils of hardened hearts. Men made it, and men toll it.